


Python

by bellygunnr



Series: Free Men Plural [1]
Category: Half-Life
Genre: Gunplay, M/M, Power Dynamics, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26556526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellygunnr/pseuds/bellygunnr
Summary: You strain to watch him. His eyes don’t leave yours as he reaches behind your ear and plucks free the half-burned cigarette you had stuck there just hours ago. He rolls it over his knuckles, waving those long fingers of his just inches in front of your face. Then he tucks it behind his thumb and expertly punches forward on your chestplate, revealing the lighter tucked inside.The gun slides deeper past your teeth. You pull your lips back into an ugly grin, letting your teeth show as you shove your tongue out from under the barrel. Some drool dribbles free as you lick at it, even cocking your head to get a better grip.
Relationships: Gordon Freeman/Freeman's Mind
Series: Free Men Plural [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931341
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	Python

“It’s stupid that we’re doing this, you know that, right? Like, there’s no reason we have to escort Alyx of all people, because she’s a total badass. I bet this is some babysitting mission-- get the Gordon doppelgangers out on the town so we stop tearing apart the lab. It’s not our fault that they don’t know what they’re doing! And that damn headcrab pet always throwing things around. It’s a wonder they get anything done in there…”

You don’t ever really pay attention to what you say when you talk. You let your mouth run while higher cognitive functions oversee your environment, scanning for threats, checking for allies, and keeping a firm grip on your weapon.

“You know what? I think they should just let me take over the lab. We’ll get that teleportation shit up in weeks. It’s easy! Just stop being so precious about your materials and safety, and we’ll be from here to there in under a second. Ha, do we still have those books around? Anyway, as I was say-- bam! Got it!”

Rifle kickback always hurt, armor or no. You laugh on through it, loud and raucous, as your shots-- always true-- take out the lumbering bullsquids. The aliens fall into a heap before they could even break the shoreline. The ground smokes where acid dribbles out from their dead mouths.

“Why haven’t we exterminated those things yet? Can’t even eat’em ‘cause they’re fucking toxic… Hey, what’s your deal?”

You make a mental check of your surroundings. Alyx has gone ahead, and that’s fine, because she can handle herself. Your other, however, your slightly shorter identical companion, has drifted to a halt in the middle of the beaten forest path. A twig snaps under his boot as he spins toward you, hands tight on his weapon.

“What? I just saved your hide, so why are you looking at me like that?”

An impact, an orange blur, sends you flat on the ground. Pain radiates through your jaw as armoured gloves wrap around it and squeeze, distracting you from the hard point of pressure being jammed into your abdomen. You gasp for air, vision swinging as you get your bearings.

Gordon’s eyes force you to look into them. It’s nothing short of thrilling.

“Not the first time I’ve been in this position,” you say, and let out an undignified squeak as he takes your jaw and forces it open.

Warm gunmetal is thrust past your lips and between your teeth. The acrid tang of gunpowder fills your mouth and burns your throat, but you’re more concerned with the blood rushing from your head to your dick. Nothing seems overly important all of a sudden-- it’s just you, Freeman, and the revolver jammed halfway to your throat.

His face is pulled taut, all hard lines and fury, lips curled into a teeth-baring snarl. So close, you can see a smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose, and another cluster by his right eye. He’s got scars, too, but none like yours-- you’re missing a whole eye, after all. Try to top that. Actually, you needed to get your eyepatch fixed. The strap was starting to wear thin-- oh, Freeman was doing something.

You strain to watch him. His eyes don’t leave yours as he reaches behind your ear and plucks free the half-burned cigarette you had stuck there just hours ago. He rolls it over his knuckles, waving those long fingers of his just inches in front of your face. Then he tucks it behind his thumb and expertly punches forward on your chestplate, revealing the lighter tucked inside.

The gun slides deeper past your teeth. You pull your lips back into an ugly grin, letting your teeth show as you shove your tongue out from under the barrel. Some drool dribbles free as you lick at it, even cocking your head to get a better grip.

The lighter sparks. Freeman sucks hard on the stick, makes the lit end flare bright. His grip shifts on the handle of the Colt, works the iron sights until they scrape against the roof of your mouth. Off-color smoke floods your nostrils as he blows the first puff into your face.

The suit is pinging something awful about your vitals. Your cock is straining hard in its confines and the underskin feels so good trying to adjust and accommodate. As Freeman jostles the gun, you clamp down with your lips, finally mindful of your teeth. Saliva gleams dully on the barrel as he slides it out a couple inches.

The anger has drained from his expression, but his eyes still burn. Whatever gets you to shut up, is what his face says. He digs his thumb under your jaw. You make an obscene noise in the back of your throat.

In goes the barrel, slick with your spit. Down goes the knee, riding on the codpiece of the armor instead of your gut. Up goes your hips, chasing the friction, and a cycle is formed-- in, out, up, down, all in one smooth gyrating motion that makes you want to moan for real. As it is, the gun swallows your voice, lest you wish to try and piss Freeman off all over again.

Freeman releases your jaw. He brushes the back of his hand across your cheek, letting his fingertips linger before walking them behind your neck. Goosebumps erupt down your spine at the contact. You feel your cock pulse as, roughly, he takes out your ponytail and grabs a fistful of your hair. Once more, the barrel slides in.

He yanks on your hair as he pulls it back out. It slides out with a wet pop and dripping with spittle. You let your jaw hang open, along with your tongue, breaths coming in ragged pants.

The air is charged. That much even you can feel. It’s in every rock of your hips against his bobbing knee, the shifting of loose dirt beneath your body as the pace picks up. You can’t look away from him, nor him you, and it’s good, it’s so good that you’re trying to rut yourself properly with needy, growling grunts. Your hands have curled into your fists at your sides, knuckles digging down, trying to find purchase.

His hand tightens on your hair. He rocks his leg against your crotch with increasing fervor, as if he’s trying to match the pace, chase your high,

and then there is nothing.

Freeman rocks back so that he’s crouched over you, straddling your waist with no point of contact. You stare, speechless and gasping, as he takes the dregs of the cigarette and puts it out on the collar of your HEV suit. The heat is close enough to send tingling terror through your nerves.

With a smug smile, Freeman stands upright and starts to walk away.

You scream wordlessly after him.

**Author's Note:**

> im inflicting psychic damage
> 
> [My friend here](https://snuccubus.tumblr.com/) is the mastermind behind this fic. They had all the events and ideas. I was just possessed


End file.
